


Nathan Lambert's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Series: Bring You Home and Companion Stories [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Military Kink, Side Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 15:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16370414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: Nate's day turns into a shit show. Jake finds a way to make it up to him.(A companion piece to "Bring You Home")





	Nathan Lambert's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: This fic takes place as a side story to "Bring You Home." It occurs between chapters 27 and 28 of the "Set You Free" arc, so if you haven't read up to that part, beware of spoilers!
> 
> I literally wrote this like 5 months ago and I've had to wait until the appropriate part of the main fic was posted and it was KILLING ME so

Nathan Lambert is having a _very bad day_.

Oh, it all started out perfectly fine. Morning jog with the cadets. A full, healthy, rounded breakfast of oatmeal, peanut butter, a banana, and a protein shake. Bo staff practice with the cadet mid-morning. Meditation with Jules and the cadets before lunch.

Before the meditation, he saw Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb off on the transport to the international court, where the hearing to determine whether Dr. Geiszler would be going on trial would take place. That wasn't all that enjoyable, but it was out of his hands now, so he'd done drift training with the cadets in the late afternoon, and welcomed the doctors back in the evening, the unfortunate fact of Dr. Geiszler's trial casting a gloom over most of the teenagers. It was a little obnoxious how they all barely knew the guy but were now suddenly moping over this update. But Nate knows to take teenagers in stride, as everything is a life-ending drama with them. Though this one might actually be a life ending drama.

He had settled down for bed when Dr. Geiszler's uncle was beating down his door, yelling about _Newt is missing_ and _Rangers Pentecost and Reyes and Hermann stole a jeep._ And suddenly just, like, _dozens_ of JACRO officers are rolling out of the base, shouting orders, and Admiral Jefferson is in his office, yelling about _lax security_ and _it'll be your head if an international war criminal escapes a high security base_ and _can't even control your own fucking officers!_ Fuck that guy, sniveling little creep. Hopped up on his own importance. Definitely cruising for Mako's old job, as if he could ever replace her.

Jules and Jake won't answer their lines, and before he begins a panic-fueled evac of the base to try and find them, they show up on a JACRO transport, handcuffed but both looking cheery and little worse for wear. The guy handcuffed next to them, that Finch asshole, Dr. Geiszler's night bodyguard and definitely one of Jefferson's lackeys, looks a lot worse, with a hole through his wrist, bruises all over and a wild, lunatic expression. He's screaming for his master, screaming about how Jake and Jules tried to murder him. Jefferson storms out onto the platform, and Nate has no choice but to go as well and stop the prick from throwing his friends into the brig for treason.

There's no agreement as to who is in the right and who is in the wrong. Jules indicates that they need to speak privately, and Lambert pulls her aside, listens to her story about the kidnapping, the botched mob execution plan, the voice recording, Geiszler and Gottlieb on the run. It sounds wild, but he fights giant sea monsters that come out of an inter-dimensional portal for a living, so... his standards for wild are pretty much shot.

In the end, Jefferson agrees that Jules and Jake shouldn't be court-marshaled on the spot, in exchange for the same being said for his lackey. It'll all be sorted out at Dr. Geiszler's hearing, but all three potential suspects are suspended from their current work and confined to their quarters for the time being. It'll have to be good enough for now.

Nate sends a message to Mingxia, lets her know what's going on and to come see him in the morning, which is going to be about four hours from now, since by this time it's two in the morning and he's been awake for almost a full day, and maybe some psycho scientists like Geiszler can pull seventy-two hours without rest, but Nate sure as shit can't.

He walks with Jules and Jake back to their rooms, since technically they're under his 'custody,' as the highest acting official on the base.

"Mate, 'm tellin' you, Jules put the drop on that nonce," Jake says, patting Jules on the shoulder in a way that says ' _I appreciate your prowess and fortitude and this is completely non-sexual contact'_. "Just like, bam, boom, oof, down he goes!" He makes several gesticulations as to illustrate the point.

"I do hold the record for the second fastest take-down with a bo staff in the program history, after Ms. Mori," Jules replies, grinning the grin of someone well accomplished by the evening's preceding events. "I wasn't about to let that asshole go shooting Dr. Gottlieb, was I?"

"Some men would find those capabilities attractive, Reyes," Jake says, batting his eyelashes.

"Not you though," Reyes replies, smacking his shoulder, though not hard enough to be seen as anything more than good-natured. "You're very respectful of the fact that I could kick your ass straight into the Anteverse if I thought you were getting too forward."

Jake laughs, nodding. "Of course. Completely platonic respect and admiration, Ranger. Hey, Nate, would ya stop with that face? You've got nothin' to be jealous of, pretty boy."

Nate frowns, Jules snickering beside him. "I'm not- you're both ridiculous. You both could've died several ways tonight and this is how you react?"

"But we didn't," Jake says, shrugging. "Everythin' worked out okay."

"Okay? Okay? Are you kidding me?" Nate stops his stride, gaping at them. "Dr. Geiszler and Gottlieb are missing, potentially captured by whatever local gang runs that district, or dispatched by more of Jefferson's JACRO lackeys. You're both in a shit load of trouble, I'm in hot water for letting this all happen, and you want to tell me everything _worked out okay?_ "

"I think, what my esteemed colleague is saying," Jules says, "is that despite the chaos, some good came out of it. We know now that whatever happened back in 2027, it's something Jefferson is afraid of the rest of the council finding out about, and he's determined to silence Dr. Geiszler before he can remember it. We've got audio proof of a conspiracy, as long as they can manage to get Hermann's phone to Mingxia. Everything seemed hopeless before this, but then Jefferson and Finch couldn't take the heat, and ended up giving us more evidence instead of solving their problem. And now, maybe Dr. Geiszler has a chance to walk out of this a free man."

"Exactly," Jake says. "She said it all for me, so I didn't have to."

Nate rubs a hand over his face, groaning, but resuming his stride. "I can't believe I even thought you were both capable of responsible, rational choices. I think I know what Dr. Gottlieb feels like every time Dr. Geiszler comes up with a new 'experiment' to risk his life over."

Jules pats his shoulder, chuckling. "So in this metaphor, does that mean you love us both as much as Dr. Gottlieb loves Dr. Geiszler?"

"Oooooy, it does, Jules, don't it?" Jake pats Nate on the back playfully. "Knew it."

They arrive at Jules' door. She sighs and steps through it, turning around. "Well, this is the not so fun part of tonight. I guess I'll catch up on some TV and a few novels I've been meaning to read. At least the trial is only three days off."

Nate gives her a sympathetic look. "I'll come see you in the morning. Maybe I'll send one of the Rangers to get some of your research notes from the lab."

"That'd be fantastic." Jules pops up on her toes and pecks him on the cheek. Nate smiles, appreciating the affection. "Get some rest, boys. We did good work tonight."

When the door swishes shut, Nate takes out his key card and swipes it through the override switch on the key code panel. The door locks, meaning Jules is technically a prisoner in her own bunk.

"Aw, mate, are we really doing this?" Jake asks as they turn towards his own bunk. "You don't trust us to not run off again?"

"Whether I trust you is irrelevant; someone will inevitably come by to check if I've done what I said I would," Nate says. "And no, I _don't_ trust you." He picks up his pace as they head away towards Jake's room.

Jake catches up to him, meeting his stride. "I'm hurt, Lambert. Trust is the foundation of any good relationship."

"Tell that to yourself four hours ago."

"What are you on about?"

Nate stops again, this time outside of Jake's door. He turns and jabs the other man in the chest with a finger. "You both went off base on a wild drift bond chase through the city, and you couldn't have, I don't know, popped off a phone call? Sent a quick text? Let me know what you were doing?"

"You might've tipped our hand too early if your backup had arrived before we got the confession outta Finch."

"Bullshit, Jake. Bull-fucking-shit. I could've sent people to protect Geiszler and Gottlieb and get the confession safely into our hands. Now we don't know where they are, or if the evidence that's gonna exonerate you all still exists."

Jake looks sour, but Nate doesn't care. He's pissed. Super goddamned pissed, only he didn't realize it until the cheery banter was gone and the reality of the situation they're in made itself apparent through the lock on Jules' door.

"I trusted you to know how to correct the mess we made, _Nathan_." Jake jams his key card into his reader and the door swishes open. "Cause you're usually good at it, and I've come to rely on that."

Oh, full names, that's what he's pulling out? Fine. Nate can play that game.

"Maybe I'd like you to rely on me besides being your cleanup guy, _Jacob._ "

Nate follows Jake into his bunk, avoiding tripping over the various articles of clothing and junk food wrappers tossed about on the ground. The door swishes shut behind him, and unthinkingly, Nate swipes his card on the reader on the wall. The green beam on the side turns red. Stupid, he just locked himself in here with Jake. Well, they can have it out at least, without Jake being able to storm off and ignore the conversation, like he always does.

"The fuck are you doing in here?" Jake says, kicking his boots off. "Get out."

"No, we're having a conversation." Nate leans against the door, folding his arms.

"About sodding what?"

"This." Nate motions between them. "This obnoxious distancing you do with me that you don't with Jules. It needs to stop. Haven't I earned your trust again by this point?"

"That's not why- you're the bloody _base commander_ , ya twit!"

Now Jake's in his face again, jabbing him in the chest, and he's mad, but he's serious, sparks lighting up in his eyes. Nate likes him serious. He's got fire, he's got pep. Nate knows he actually gives a shit when he's like this, as opposed to his usual 'I am Jake Pentecost and nothing phases me' attitude that got him kicked out of the Jaeger corps in the first place, leaving Nate alone, without the drift partner he thought he would have for years to come, the friend he was coming around to liking, who he thought had liked him too, enough to not do something so fucking foolhardy and risk whatever it was they were building.

Jake continues. "You're the soddin' base commander, Nate, you're the boss of us. Of course there's gonna be a damned distance. This isn't cadet school anymore, brother. You need a good rep to keep us all from being scattered to the wind. So I get my hands dirty so you don't have to."

"I never asked you to, I never did!" Nate shoots back, standing up straighter, trying to seem the commander Jake claims he is. He doesn't always feel capable of carrying that weight.

"You didn't have to. You keep talking 'bout family and taking care of each other. So we take care of each other, in our own ways. You delegate and smooth talk the higher ups. But Jules and I, we can get away with things you can't, 'cause she's the moral center of our ragtag trio, and if she does it, then, well, she must be doing the right thing."

"That's sexist," Nate replies, rather weakly. "Making the woman-"

"It's not sexist if it's _how we work_ , mate. In this, real life." Jake folds his arms, frowning down at the ground. "And look, I'm the rebel, I'm the troublemaker, the delinquent, what a _damned_ cliche. But it's _who I am_ , Nate. So I embrace who I am, and so does Jules, and so do you, ya strong-jawed, goody-two shoes, action hero lookin' white boy, and maybe we save the world, or maybe we just save two good men who don't deserve what's happened to 'em."

Jake glances up at him, daring Nate with his eyes, daring him to disagree with any of it. And Nate does, because he's no 'goody-two shoes,' and the only reason Jake ended up 'delinquent' in any way is because the Senior Pentecost tossed him out.

And maybe Nate is still bitter about that, now that he thinks about it. But you don't just throw your own kid, traumatized by a life dedicated to throwing himself at angry sea monsters, risking his own death to prevent millions of others from dying- you don't just toss that kid away because they _acted_ _like a kid_. Foolhardy, self-assured, too cocky. Normal teenage behavior, covering up for all the uncertainty and changes in outlook that growing up brings.

You don't quit on family like that.

"I can get my hands dirty," Nate says, meeting his defiant look with a matching one of disagreement. "Don't ever underestimate me like that again, Jake, understand me?"

Jake snorts. "Whatever. Fuck off, mate."

"Fine, you want me to pull rank? As your commanding officer, I _order_ you to keep me in the loop from now on, about _everything_. Are we clear, Ranger Pentecost?"

Nate shifts to turn and leave, but Jake's hand slams into his shoulder, pinning him to the door. Nate winces and scowls.

"You're shit at giving orders, and I'm shit at taking them," Jake says. He frowns, eyes drifting downwards, like he's thinking something through.

"I have no issues with anyone else on this base following my command," Nate responds, glaring.

Jake smirks and taps his forehead. "Yeah, 'cause none of them have ever been in your head. I know ya too well. You hate being superior officer to anybody. You like being one of the rank and file. It's why you're so pissed that I won't let you roll in the muck with the rest of us. If you could have your way, you'd 'yes sir, no sir' your way through the rest of your life, but then half the base had to go off and get killed, and who's left to lead us but Nathan fuckin' Lambert?"

Nate swallows, shakes his head. "What's your point, Jake?"

Jake's hand shifts, from his shoulder, to the center of his chest. It's warm and firm, keeping him pressed to the door, but only enough to make a point, not be uncomfortable. Although the way that Jake is looking at him... that's making him _super_ uncomfortable.

"I think you miss it, and it's causing you no end of stress," Jake replies. "Having to take on all this responsibility, make decisions, be in charge of people's lives. You've been tense for ages, mate. Everyone can tell it."

"Congratulations, you figured me out, I guess I don't need to pay our therapist anymore, what with your prowess at understanding human psychology." Nate pushes up against Jake's palm, but he keeps it flat and firm, and Nate doesn't feel like fighting him on it.

"I'm quite good at the whole figuring ya out, yeah," Jake says, smirking. There's a dangerous gleam to his eyes, one that twists a knot of nerves in Nate's stomach. "In fact, I think I know some therapeutic techniques that might help relieve some of that stress."

Nate frowns. "Yeah, like what?"

Jake steps closer into his space, far too close, and he's far too comfortable intruding too. Nate swallows, mouth going dry.

"You need somebody to order you around, for once," Jake says, palm going from flat to curved, fingers trailing their way down Nate's chest, and oh, oh this is not how Nate was planning on this conversation going. Not at _all_. "Somebody who's not afraid to step up and dress you down a bit."

"Jake," Nate says, tone of warning. Jake pauses his hand, but doesn't move back. "You just said- I'm, I'm your superior officer."

Jake grins. "An look at me, being a rebel who doesn't take orders. In fact, maybe I should be giving em."

"You're not a commander," Nate says. His breath hitches up, up, up, as Jake's hand goes down, down, down, stopping in the center of his torso, right above his belly button. "If you can't take orders, what makes you think you can give them?"

This is dangerous, this is completely unprofessional and, and yes inevitable given the heated exchanges, heated looks, and the way Jake's cocky smirk makes Nate want to grab his face and just-

 _No, are you insane, Lambert?_ Nate thinks, glancing down between Jake's hand and back up to Jake's face.

Jake is smiling easy, a glint in his eyes, that same self-sure spark that Nate wishes he had. Damn the man and his lackadaisical ease of being his authentic self. It's something Nate has never had come naturally, and there's an inauthenticity in his fight to embody this role of commander, superior, leader. Sure, it's exhilarating and humbling to know so many people trust him, look up to him, rely on him, believe in him. But it's also _exhausting_ , and not what he signed up for. Nate wants to save the world, but he's got no desire for the spotlight that comes with it. Jake acclimates to the spotlight, to the community-sourced label of 'cocky, bad boy hero,' slides into it, rolls around in it, and it fits him like a well tailored suit. Meanwhile, Nate's suit is far too bulky, too many assumptions about how well it would fit before he put it on, and now he's terrified everyone can see how poorly of a job he does filling it out.

"Nate. My mate. Would ya stop trying to handle everything by yourself for once?" Jake draws his fingers back up, catching them on the open flap of Nate's button-down, which is three buttons undone, half shucked on while half awake. "Take a cue from Dr. Geiszler. Ya don't have a mad mass of alien brains tryin' to override your will, but that don't mean you can keep running on empty like this without something breaking down."

Nate licks his lips to wet them, throat parched from the dry air vented into the Shatterdome, and not because the sudden closeness of Jake is making his internal systems go haywire. It can't be the drift bond, which is faded, barely there now after all these years and too few new drifts to repair it... except Nate swears he can feel a nudge from Jake's side, an appeal, a challenge, a genuine concern.

"You want to be the commander for once, Jake? Fine." Nate pushes him back, trying to regain some semblance of control in the situation. "Show me what you think that looks like."

"Mmm, alright." Jake stands up a bit straighter, and in a smooth motion, shrugs off his bomber jacket and swings it onto the back of the desk chair. He's wearing a sleeveless tank underneath, dog tags visible under the fabric, though Nate doesn't remember them ever issuing him any new ones. Jake folds his arms, eyeing Nate up and down, and Nate mimics his posture, waiting.

"Stand up _straight_ , Ranger! Did they teach ya _nothing_ in this godforsaken Shatterdome about respect for your superiors?"

The words out of Jake's mouth are sharp, loud, and laced with a tone of authority Nate never thought possible from him. Nate feels a jolt down his spine, beginning in his lizard brain and speeding straight like an arrow, down, down, down, ending with a little twinge of excitement in his balls, a reaction that is both shocking and horrifying, considering the context. His arms drop to his sides, his feet shifting to more evenly brace his weight, and his posture straightens itself right up. This all happens in the space of breath, sucked in and let out in a shaky gasp.

Jake keeps his reaction to Nate's reaction fairly muted; his own shock barely passing across his face, and eyes widening ever so slightly. He's quick to compose himself again, hard stare returning, locking Nate's gaze to his own.

 _Oh, fuck._ Nate thinks, swallowing again, so thirsty, though for what, he's not sure he can definitively say anymore.

"That's better," Jake says, stepping even closer into Nate's space. Nate stiffens, clenches his fists, struggles to stand his ground, a step back would only leave him pinned to the door.

Jake continues. "Now, you'll address me as sir. _Understand?_ "

The words he emphasizes aren't shouted, but stated, clear and crisp, ringing in the air like beats of a drum, rhythm vibrating through Nate's body, pushing him to reaction.

"S-sir, yes sir," Nate says. It's been at least ten years since he's stammered in front of a superior office, and it's only because it's Jake, who's surprised him, is always surprising him, who shouldn't have the practiced intonation of a drill sergeant, but he does, and Nate wonders if maybe it's genetic, something passed from the Senior Pentecost to the son that Jake only pulls out as a trump card.

Jake gets up in his face, too close, too close. "Was that a _stammer_ , Ranger? You want to try that again? Eyes _forward_ , Lambert!"

Nate jerks his gaze up and out, switching to his far vision, Jake's face blurring but still enveloping his view.

"Sir, yes, sir!" Nate says, voice stronger this time. He sees Jake's mouth quirk up in a smile, Nate's pleased him, by this reaction, and Nate wants to please him, feels this sudden urge to do so, although maybe it's not so sudden, maybe he's spent a lot of time and energy lately doing things that he knows will please Jake. After all, would he really have gone so hard fighting for the Anteverse breach plan if Jake hadn't pushed him towards it, expressed how much he'd wanted it, and looked so damn proud of him for advocating it?

Jake finally steps back a little, and the tense knot in Nate's spine loosens, he breathes a little deeper. Then Jake holds a hand out.

"Hand over your key card, Ranger."

"What- Jake, I can't-"

"Did I _say_ to address me by another name, Ranger?!"

Nate tenses again. "Sir, no sir!"

"Good. Now, pass it over."

But Nate hesitates, hand by his pocket twitching, vacillating back and forth. Jake must notice reality breaking into the little illusion they've got going on, because he leans in close, hard stare softening for a brief moment.

"Promise I won't use it, mate. You can have it back at any time, but only if you order it from me."

Oh. Now he sees. It's a symbol, a power exchange, something tangible, control given away, control he can demand back when he wants to. So he digs his hand into his pocket and holds the card out.

Jake swipes it from his palm. The softness from his gaze vanishes. "Back in position, Ranger," he snaps.

Nate returns his arms to his sides as Jake turns, walks over to his desk, and opens the long, thin top drawer. He lays the card inside, then shuts it. The drawer has a lock, the key shoved into it, and Jake turns it, taking the key and sliding it onto the chain with his dog tags. Now Nate really isn't getting it back unless he orders Jake to unlock the drawer. This transfer of control, however symbolic, however flimsy the premise actually is...

Fuck. He's already hard.

"You seem to have a _pressing_  issue there, Ranger," Jake says, eyes pointedly staring at the bulge in Nate's slacks as he returns to stand facing him. "That's a clear violation of your professional standards of conduct. I won't have it."

"I- I apologize, sir?" Nate says, not sure where he's going with this, because he kind of thought this was the whole point Jake has been getting at.

Jake shakes his head. "Not good enough. On your knees, solider."

"Sir?"

" _Knees_ , Lambert!"

Nate drops down so fast, he winces when his kneecaps hit the floor. He manages to keep his arms at his sides, eyes straight ahead, as Jake circles him, practically _prowling_ , doing a complete circle in silence before stopping behind him.

"Fifty push-ups. _Now._  I'll count you off." Jake growls.

It's instinctual, the way Nate leans forward, dropping onto his hands, the momentum of his body weight pulling him down into the right position, legs straightening out into parallel lines. A practiced, fluid motion he's done hundreds of times before, though never like this, never as fucking _foreplay_ , because this is definitely foreplay. Maybe the weirdest kind he's ever engaged in, but he's engaged, aroused, and curious as to what Jake is planning next.

He begins as Jake barks out the count, lowering and raising himself in time with the rhythm Jake sets. Too fast to leave him comfortable, but not fast enough that he can't handle it. Fifty push-ups is nothing to him now, not like when he was thirteen, scrawny and struggling to keep up. He'd practice them over and over in the ranger bunk room, late into the night, and sometimes Jake would sit up with him, half-asleep against the wall, but counting off for him as well as he could. He can breeze through fifty like they're nothing now.

"Another set," Jake says when he finishes, his breath barely audible.

They start the count again. When Nate finishes this set of fifty, he's breathing like he just took a light, mile run.

"Again," Jake says.

Another fifty. Nate's starting to feel that ache in his lungs now.

" _Again_ ," Jake snaps.

Nate is panting harder after this set, and he can feel the sweat starting to break on his brow.

"Another set, Ranger, I didn't tell you to stop!" Jake shouts.

He's starting to lose the rhythm of the count, starting to slow down. He can feel sweat trickling down his back, the room is too warm for this kind of exertion, really. His arms are shaking after he finishes this one.

"One more," Jake says. "And then back on your knees."

This last set beats the hell out of him. His shirt soaks with sweat, he almost loses his form several times, and when he drops down onto his knees, he's panting like a dog in the late summer heat, body trembling with exhaustion. He forces himself back up to a kneeling position, gasping raggedly.

Nate senses Jake leaning down behind him, freezes as the other man's mouth mutters close to his ear. "Is your pressing issue still present, Ranger?"

The push-ups had drawn some of the blood away from his groin, wilting his cock, but now, coming down from the exhaustion of the exercise, and Jake's renewed imposition into his personal space, Nate feels himself harden right back up. _Fuck._

"S-still there, sir," Nate pants.

"Mmmm. Thought it might be. Guess we'll just have to work with it."

Jake straightens up and returns to stand in front of Nate. Jake's crotch is level height with Nate's gaze, and Nate bites back a moan when he sees Jake's own 'pressing issue,' bulging against the denim, obvious looking and so close to Nate's mouth, god, he just wants to lean forward and...

Then Jake reaches down and flicks the buttons on his jeans open. Nate's gaze shoots upwards, meeting the other man's.

"Problem, Ranger?" Jake says, slowly peeling the teeth of the zipper down and away from one another.

"No _sir_ ," Nate says, maybe a little too eager, a little too willing to admit that this is something he's wanted to do since the moment Jake stepped back into the Shatterdome, back into his life.

Jake smirks, shaking his head. "Good."

He tugs his shirt up a little, exposing a line of clean, smooth skin on his stomach that Nate wants to lean forward and lick, taste, savor. But he holds his place, and is rewarded when Jake shimmies his jeans down around his thighs, and then tugs the boxers down as well. His cock springs free and bobs up, thick, almost squareish, decently long, one deep black vein on the underside, squiggly and branching out into tiny smaller ones, a trimmed thatch of curly hair surrounding the base, the whole blessed organ tantalizingly close. Nate can smell it, can smell Jake's usual musk, heavy and magnified by a thousand, tinged with that familiar undertone that he's only ever been able to describe as the smell of lust. It's pretty much a universal thing, even if everybody's is a little different.

"Arms at your sides, Ranger," Jake says, taking himself in hand, obviously noticing the way Nate's hands just twitched up towards his member. "I'm operating the equipment on this mission, you're just along for the ride."

Nate can't help but whine a bit, especially when Jake uses his free hand to grip Nate's jaw, tugging him forward. The head of Jake's cock brushes against Nate's lips, and he flicks his tongue out, tasting the salty tang of pre-come he already knew would be present. He wants to push forward more, open his mouth and take it all in, but Jake holds him still.

"Listen," Jake says. "You want me to stop, you pinch me hard behind the kneecaps. Got it? Say it out loud, mate."

"I've got it, pinch you," Nate says. His voice sounds so hoarse, so needy.

Jake nods. Then he presses his thumb and forefinger into either side of the joint of Nate's jaw, and Nate takes the hint, obliging and opening his mouth wide.

Jake's cock slides deliciously between his lips, pushing them open wide. Nate closes his eyes, breathes through his nose deeply, learning the taste of a new lover, the feel of the weight on his tongue. The next thing he feels is Jake's hand on the back of his head, pushing him closer, firm but not too forceful, gauging how much Nate can take, which is about three-fourths of the organ before Nate feels his gag reflex kicking in, and he resists Jake pushing any farther, which thankfully, he doesn't. Jake's hands cup the back of Nate's head, and Nate's been so focused on acclimating to this sensation that he only now notices how hard Jake's breathing sounds, and the way his fingertips are pressing into Nate's scalp.

" _Fuck me_ , mate," Jake says, voice deep and thrumming. Nate wants to make a pithy comment, like _that's kind of what you're doing to me right now_ , but obviously can't. Instead, he glides his tongue along the side of Jake's cock as best he's able, and the other man gasps, apparently pleased by this decision. "Oh, _oh_ , s-shit, uh, I mean... put that tongue of yours to work, Ranger."

Nate snorts at the slip in composure, though he really can't blame Jake or anything, what with the current circumstances. He'd probably be making the same sounds if Jake's mouth was around his cock. Fuck, he'd like that sometime, definitely. But for right now, he's been given an order, one he'll gladly follow. He trails his tongue back and forth across the underside of Jake's cock, and the other man's hands loosen their grip, which lets Nate pull his head back slightly, sucking with his lips as he does so. Jake moans and jerks his hips forward, just a bit, just enough to warn Nate that he'll be highly displeased if Nate thinks he's getting control of his mouth back any time soon. _You're the one who's mouth needs controlling_ , Nate thinks, bowing his head down to change the angle, pleased to find this lets him take Jake farther down his throat. His nose twitches as the curly hairs at the base of the shaft brush up against it. Jake's hands tighten their grip again, holding him in place.

"It's been too long since I've gotten to stick m' prick in something this warm n' wet," Jake gasps, breath stuttering into a deep chuckle. "Fuck... keep your head still, Ranger, and those hands had better stay at your sides."

Nate makes a noise, trying to acknowledge his willingness to obey, but the noise is choked back as Jake bends his hips back and then snaps them forward, cock slipping out and then straight back down Nate's throat, just barely tickling his uvula. Instantly, he's fighting himself to stay still, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, swallowing. Jake repeats the motion, shifting his hips back and then flicking them forward, and Nate shudders and digs his nails into his sides. The first few thrusts vacillate between too deep and too shallow, but eventually Jake finds a good middle ground, thrusts are just deep enough to ping a slight level of discomfort, but not so deep as to truly make him choke or feel unable to breathe.

Jake keeps doing this, fucking his mouth in smooth, short thrusts, and Nate finds he likes it, finds his own cock reacting with little throbs of approval. It's that push to the edge of his acceptable limits, challenging him, like those push-ups were, knowing he can handle it. It's somebody who knows him well enough to know he likes being tested, but, as evidenced by the way Jake's thrusts are pointed, controlled, stopped short of where he theoretically could push them, Jake also seems to understand how important it is to not abuse this control. He gets that Nate just wants to listen, to cede some power and not have to direct anything, to just let someone else handle things, and Nate likes that he gets this, like that Jake gets _him_ , has always seemed to get him.

The pressure in his sack tightens, and Nate wants to grip himself, self-stimulate, relieve the tension. But there's the sweet intoxication of obedience to consider, a self-imposed limit that he could hypothetically break at any time, but chooses not to, because the pleasure he wants is overwhelmingly being created by this self-imposition. The longer he resists, the longer he cedes control, the longer this pleasure has to build, to mature and enrich.

"You're, ah, you're doin' an admirable job there, obeying my orders, Lambert," Jake says, panting as he ceases his thrusts. If anyone looks undone right now, it's Jake, shivering, eyes dilated wide to black, all seeing orbs. Then again, Nate can't see what he looks like, but he can imagine it, with the way Jake is staring at him. He's probably red-faced, hair mussed, lips puckered and glistening with moisture, pupils blown wide. Fuck, and now even the idea of that is so damned erotic, it sends another jolt through his balls.

Jake slides out of his mouth, and Nate gasps and pulls in great gulps of air, staring at the cock waving in front of his face, shiny and thick, the vein on the underside pulsing expectantly.

"T-Thank you, sir," Nate says, nails digging so hard into his thighs that he knows he's going to leave marks.

"Undress yourself," Jake says, stepping back. His jeans and boxers have fallen around his ankles, and he kicks them all off, taking another step back, the backs of his calves hitting the bed. He sits down on it, leans back, and then crawls to the headboard, eyes on Nate the whole time. "Then come here."

Nate moves to stand, but Jake holds out a hand. "Did I tell you to _stand up_ , Ranger?"

"Sir, no, sir," Nate says, frowning slightly.

"No, I definitely didn't. You don't get off those knees of yours 'til I tell you to." Jake takes himself in hand, leaning against the headboard, lazily stroking himself.

 _Fuck, he really wants to make me work for this_ , Nate thinks, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off his shoulders. He folds it neatly, not sure whether Jake is going to knock him for haphazardly tossing it onto the ground, in keeping with the whole 'drill sergeant' routine. Next, he works open the button on his slacks, watching Jake watch him. Everything gets tugged down to his knees, and he sees the moment Jake sees his own cock, colored a deep umber red, head wet with pre-come. He knows that's the moment, because Jake's lips part just so, tongue flicks out to wet them, anticipation of taste, of want, wanting him in a way Nate has never been sure of, has seen glimpses of, played off as jokes or Jake's preternatural flirting skills. But no, he watches Jake grip himself a little tighter, drinking in the sight of Nate's body, aching for him, nobody else... fuck. Fuck, it's so gratifying.

Nate lifts one knee, pushes his slacks down towards the ankle, then repeats the same on the other leg. He sits back on his heels and reaches back to tug the slacks and boxers off the rest of the way, socks joining them, until he's naked on the floor but for his dog tags resting against his neck.

"Leave 'em," Jake says when Nate lifts his hands towards the chain. "Get your ass on this bed now, Ranger."

Nate goes down on all fours and crawls to the edge of the bed, figuring it's a better sight than him trying to shimmy over on knees alone. He pushes his hands into the mattress, hoists himself up bodily, and kneels at the end, feet dangling over the edge, arms back at his sides, presenting himself for duty.

"Ready for orders, sir," Nate says, watching as Jake's eyes flick to his legs, and Nate knows he can see the self-inflicted nail marks, red half-moons where he dug in deep to keep himself under control.

"Closer, Lambert," Jake says, and when Lambert scoots closer, Jake reaches out and grabs his hips, pulling him astride Jake's lap, seating him on top of Jake's thighs, so that Jake's cock presses up against his own, a hot brand that makes Nate gasp and bite his lip. He gasps even harder when Jake grips him with a firm fist, the first touch of skin that Nate's had on his cock all damned night, and it's so sensitive right now, tingling and throbbing with need.

And then Jake starts stroking.

Nate cries out. "F-fuck! S-sir, I..."

He's too touch starved, skin alight with sensory overload as Jake's hand strokes and Jake's own cock brushes Nate's thighs, and then Jake's free hand grips the back of Nate's neck and tugs his head down, Jake's mouth brushing against the edge of Nate's ear.

Jake mumbles. "Lambert, do you wanna get fucked?"

"Fuck, _yes_ ," Nate gasps, never wanting anything else more in his _life_.

"You sure?" Jake keeps stroking him, thumb toying with the head of his cock, swirling the beads of pre-come down to use as an impoverished lubricant. "You can say no, it's all up to you."

"Jake... _please._ "

Nate knows Jake is doing what he should in this sort of situation, checking in, asking consent, making sure Nate isn't doing anything he doesn't want to. But it's kind of killing the whole 'obedient cadet and commanding sergeant' thing they've got going, and they probably should've negotiated this all beforehand, but it was kind of spur of the moment. Maybe next time. Hopefully next time. There's gonna be a next time, right? God, he hopes so.

Nate twists his head, murmuring into Jake's ear. "Please... would you order me to ride your cock?"

"Jesus, _fuck_ , mate," Jake groans, letting go of Nate's cock, hands returning to hold Nate's hips. Nate lifts his head a bit to meet Jake's eyes; they're so dark and wide and Nate feels like he's going to fall into them, get sucked under into whatever chaos they're creating here, but he doesn't care, he wants it, _so bad_ , and he can tell Jake does too. Can tell by the way Jake's fingertips dig into his lower back, the way his hips are already canting upwards in a facsimile of what he wants to do to Nate, by the way his knees are nudging Nate's legs apart, getting him into position.

Jake motions to the bedside table drawer. "Lube's in a small bottle. Condom should be next to it."

Nate leans over and opens the drawer. There's a half-empty plastic bottle with clear liquid and a half-dozen condoms left from a dozen-pack box.

"When the hell have you had time to get action?" Nate asks, pulling out the bottle and one packet.

"Didn't say you could ask questions, Ranger," Jake says, jerking his hips forward so his cock rubs up against Nate's, tugging a moan from Nate's throat. "Give those to me."

Nate hands over the objects. Jake drops the condom to the bed and pops the cap on the bottle open. He nudges Nate's thighs wider as he pours a generous coating of lubricant over his fingers. Nate watches him, the only sound that of their ragged, harsh breathing. When Jake slips the hand between Nate's thighs and presses one fingertip against Nate's entrance, Nate takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to relax. He hasn't done this in years, hasn't had anyone he's particularly wanted to do it with, so that first sensation of Jake's index finger pushing into him is almost as unfamiliar as it was the first time. Almost.

"Keep breathing, Lambert," Jake says, working the finger up, in, twisting and bending it gently. Lambert does as he's told, practicing the mindfulness breathing they've all been ingrained with, letting out a little whine every so often when Jake's finger brushes a sensitive spot. The second one soon follows the first, and Nate has to work harder to relax his muscles, breathing deeper. He's got no desire to have this be painful or injurious, but overwhelming and composure-shattering are good with him.

Jake pushes a third in, seemingly for good measure, and Nate will trust him to know exactly how many fingers are needed before Nate is ready to take his cock. He's pretty sure Jake has had experience with this, probably a lot more than he has, definitely more with his own cock than Nate has.

"Alright," Jake says, finally pulling his fingers out. He grabs the condom, tears it open, and rolls it onto himself. Then he pushes his own hips down, guiding his cock underneath Nate to press against his entrance. "One more thing, if you, uh, want me to stop, then... then you're ordered to call me Pentecost. Got it?"

Nate nods, legs shaking, wanting so bad to just sink down onto the length teasing him, but he hasn't been told, can't until he's told...

"Slowly, Ranger, take my cock," Jake says. "That's, that's an order."

"Yes s-sir," Nate moans, and he pushes down, feeling Jake push up. Jake's done a fantastic job prepping him, so the tip slides in quite easily, but it's still so much, and Nate's toes curl under his heels as he sinks lower, lower. It's so much, too much, no, just enough, just like before, a challenge to make him work but not to break him. Hell, that's what he considers Jake to be, some days, and mostly good has come of it. Nate goes lower, his own cock aching and the pressure in his balls mounting. He wants Jake to touch him again, wants to both be filled by and enveloped by the other man. The first want is finally fulfilled when he seats himself fully to the hilt, hands gripping Jake's shoulders for support as he shakes and gasps and takes a moment to get used to this.

"Mate, nnngh, I mean, Ranger..." Even Jake's control is slipping, the firm, sharp tone of his voice cracking into a higher-pitched tremble. "S-shit, stay right as you are."

Nate nods and pants, keeping his head down, body hunched over, no longer the straight line of the trained soldier. The pressure of being stretched out subsides after a few moments. Nate gives a little squeeze as a test, barely able to tighten his muscles around the cock that feels massive levering him open. It didn't look particularly huge before, but considering how long it's been...  He's impaled, he can't move, which is made more apparent when Jake decides to jerk his hips up a bit, a shocking jolt of pleasure from the motion.

"Lambert." Nate opens his eyes, sees Jake watching him, considering. Then Jake reaches his hands up and grabs Nate's wrists, hauling them up off of his shoulders. He guides Nate's arms back, pushing him up straight again, and holds them at Nate's sides.

Nate lets out a frustrated whine and shakes his head.

"Please, I want to touch you.. ahh!" 

Jake rolls his hips up, head dropping back.

"You said you were gonna obey my orders, Ranger. Are you backing out now?"

Nate shakes his head, jerky movements, fists balling into his sides.

"No, sir, I just-"

"Arms at your sides, on y-your knees, sit up straight, fuck... show me you can follow commands, _soldier_."

Nate wants to tear his hair out, wants to yank his wrists out of Jake's hands and rake his nails down Jake's chest, but no, he's ceded control, he will listen, he'll let Jake take the lead. That intoxicating desire to obey is driving white hot pleasure straight down his spine, keeping him pinned in place.

" _Sir, yes, sir!_ " Nate cries out, all his frustration and arousal mixed into a burst of words.

"Now, ride my cock like you mean it," Jake growls, and thrusts up.

Nate pushes down to meet him, feels the very tip of Jake's cock brush up, high enough to tap his prostate and release a bloom of pleasure deep inside. Jake keeps making short, shallow thrusts, obviously expecting Nate to pick up the slack and do the work here. It's hard to get a steady rhythm without use of his hands to leverage himself, but he uses the strength of his legs to bounce himself on Jake's cock, head thrown back, not keeping his cries stifled anymore, but gasping and moaning and keening on the down thrust. Jake eventually lets go of his wrists and grabs his hips, helping Nate push up and drop down, guiding them to a stronger, better rhythm.

"Mate... you're fuckin' loud," Jake says, laughing through a gasp as he snaps his hips up a little extra hard. "Fuck! And so fuckin' tight..!"

Nate is glad that Jake is holding his hips now, practically dragging him up and back down onto Jake's cock, because between the push-ups, the lack of a hand hold, and the strength in his thighs needed to ride like this, he can feel his legs shaking, tiring. Every thrust seems to push his legs out even wider, until it feels like Jake is just holding him up by the hips and letting Nate drop to impale himself fully, before lifting him back off with a thrust up of the hips.

The half-moons Nate dug into his thighs are joined by new ones as the fucking continues. The rest of his skin craves attention, so sensitive, he just wants to drag his own fingertips across the tops of his arms, down his chest, maybe pinch his nipples, anything would do, anything would probably make him come so fast right now. The not being able to, the lack of any other sensation than the one driving into him, it's driving him mad. He's normally such a tactile person, when he gets himself off he can close his eyes, touch himself in light strokes of fingertips over his chest, thighs, arms, and he can get right to the edge while imagining someone else doing so, any of his fantasy crushes.

 _Even you, a few dozen times_ , Nate thinks, opening his eyes and dropping his head forward again to look at Jake. The other man has one lip firmly bit between teeth, chest heaving in great, wheezed pants as he keeps fucking Nate, rolling his hips up at a changed angle when they meet eyes, dragging a shuddering gasp from Nate's lips. Jake smirks and does it again, eyes lighting up in delight as Nate almost pitches forward, the way Jake's cock rubs his prostate firmly too overwhelming.

Jake holds him still and works him this way, and Nate knows they're going to tumble onto the end of this in a very short amount of time. The drag and the rub and the thrust, they build the intense pressure in Nate's balls, and he feels that familiar change, the stroke that precedes the oncoming orgasm with a little burst of anticipatory pleasure.

"Jake," Nate gasps, eyes wide and desperate. "I can't- I'm gonna-"

"Lambert!" Jake groans out. "Come for me, th-that's an order!"

Of course that's what tips him over, of fucking course. He lets go with a loud yell that someone in the hallway will definitely hear, but he doesn't care, because the crest of an orgasm slams into him, and he's bowed so far forward that his release splatters onto his chest, even a little on the edge of his chin, and Jake keeps thrusting through it as best he can, even though Nate can feel himself tightening, squeezing so hard as his cock pulses through the shock of release. Jake must lose it at some point as well, because Nate feels him thrust up, _hard_ , one more time, give a shout, and then he can feel Jake's cock pulsing inside him as the other man goes through his orgasm.

Neither of them move for several seconds, at least half a minute, just panting, shaking, sweat-soaked and well fucked. They stare at each other, saying nothing, and eventually, they both smile, and start laughing.

Then Nate leans down and kisses him.

They hadn't done that, he's realized. The entire time, through this little charade about relieving Nate's tension, all of it masking their desire to just give in to the years of unresolved sexual chemistry and screw each other's brains out. The whole of it, and he hadn't kissed Jake. Usually, in whatever romantic comedy of your choosing, the kissing is what comes first, that moment in the story where both characters finally realize their feelings are reciprocated and want to do something to confirm that connection. They'd taken the cliche and turned it on its head, starting with the heady, passionate fucking, ending with the singular, pure moment of recognition that yes, _I like you, I like you a whole lot._

 _What if he doesn't, though?_  The thought makes the blood curdle in Nate's veins, a bone cold shot through his stomach. He freezes, and then lifts his head.

Jake is smiling, eyelids drooping, but no trace of dislike on his features. "Took ya long enough," he huffs.

Nate smiles back, resting his forehead against Jake's. "Is it weird that I feel, after everything we've just done, I should've asked permission first before I did that?"

"Mmmm, yeah. Definitely weird. It was a given, at this point."

"Was it?"

"You like me," Jake says, voice creaky with humor. "You like me a whole lot."

Nate stares at him. "How did...?"

"That was a pretty strong emotion you were sending over the drift bond, mate. Strongest one I've felt all night."

Nate blushes, he can't help it, how'd they go from fucking to feelings this fast?

He sputters. "I... If you just want this to be a one-time thing- _mmffhh_!"

Nate doesn't finish, because Jake kisses him back this time, cupping the back of his head, lips pressed firmly together for a good, long moment.

Jake smiles softly, easily at him when they pull apart again, and it twists something in Nate's chest, warmth blooming.

"Mate," Jake says. "Nate. Nathan. We've just fucked our working relationship to hell and back if this is about to be a one-night stand. 'Cause, I know this is hard to believe, what with the intense, erotic, kinky intercourse we just had... but I like ya a whole lot too." 

Nate grins, and feels his shoulders relax as the relief of it washes over him.

"Well, okay. Good," Nate says. "So, uh, I should probably get off of you now, huh?"

"That'd be appreciated, darling."

Jake's cock has started going soft, so he holds the edge of the condom as Nate slips off of him and flops down onto the bed. Then Jake gets up and ties off the condom, tossing it in the trash. He moves towards his desk, where the locked drawer holds Nate's key card, hands fiddling with the key around his neck.

"Hey, just leave it for now," Nate calls out. "Unless you're planning on kicking me out any time soon?"

Jake pauses, glances back at Nate, then the drawer, and shrugs.

"Not really, nah." He drops back onto the bed, crawling up to drape himself over Nate's chest, resting his chin on the center of it, hands pressed flat beneath. "I like the view too much."

Nate chuckles, liking the weight of Jake on top of him, warm, comforting, grounding. Maybe it makes him a little too comfortable, because he yawns, eyelids drooping. "Sorry. I think I might really need some sleep after all this. I'm gonna be back up in like... three hours to talk to Mingxia about how to help Dr. Geiszler and Dr. Gottlieb."

"No, you should get some rest," Jake replies. He leans over and shuts the lamp light off, crawling up to rest in the crook of Nate's arm, face pressed to his neck.

"Tomorrow though," Nate mumbles, kissing him on the forehead. "Let's talk."

"Sir, yes, sir," Jake mumbles into his throat. Nate can't help but laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhhhhhhhh first Lamcost fic though it's not a standalone, hope ya'll like it!


End file.
